Page 78 of The Seaside Homecoming
She paused in the doorway, surprised by the sight within. Sonali sat on a chair, while Mira sat on the floor, back resting against the woman’s legs. Sonali was massaging Mira’s hair, and from the girl’s drowsy lids and half smile, she seemed to be enjoying the experience.
“That looks pleasant,” Claire said.
Sonali’s head snapped up, and Claire was taken aback to see tears in her eyes. Blinking them away, the woman opened her mouth, then seemed to think the better of whatever retort she’d been about to deliver. She looked back down at the child and simply said, “Mira likes it.”
Mira nodded her agreement, then quickly stilled so the massage would continue. She said, “Ammaused to do this for me.”
Claire raised the package. “This is for you, Mira, a gift from my sister Viola. I shall leave it here on the dressing chest.”Duty completed, Claire lingered, still curious. “Is that oil you are rubbing in?”
“Of course.”
“And do you do this for your own hair as well?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I have noticed how lovely and shiny your hair is. I suppose now I have learned your secret.”
Sonali glanced up at the compliment, then raised one shoulder. “No secret. Many Indian women do this. Mothers pass it down to daughters. It is tradition.”
“Did your mother do that for you?”
The woman glanced up again and her eyes flattened. “No.” She quickly looked away.
Claire feared she had offended her and she’d say no more, but a moment later, Sonali added, “Though some of my earliest memories are of sitting at my grandmother’s feet as she massaged my hair. Sometimes we talked, sometimes we sat in peaceful silence. She added crushed hibiscus flowers to her oil. The smell still reminds me of her.”
“What kind of oil are you using?”
“The last of the apricot oil I brought with me, mixed with oil of castor beans.”
“Castor oil? Ugh.”
“Foul to the taste, perhaps, but good for the hair and scalp.”
“Then do you wash it out?”
“Later. For now, we braid the hair and let the oil absorb. We shall wash it in the morning.”
“Did you do this for Mrs. Hammond as well?”
“Yes, and she for me.” Tears misted her eyes once more, but she wiped them away with an oily hand. “After she married, sometimes her husband performed the service for her—at least while the two were newly wed.”
Claire felt her neck warm and did her best to banish the image of Mr. Hammond massaging his wife’s hair.
Sonali added, “When he grew too busy and began working all hours, I resumed the task for Vanita.”
“I am sure you miss her. What a grievous loss for you all.”
Sonali nodded. “Thank you. You are kind to include me in that sentiment.”
After a moment of companionable silence—rare in this woman’s presence—Sonali asked, “And you, Miss Summers. What traditions did your mamma pass down to you and your ... several sisters, I believe?”
“Oh.” A rush of rejection and shame rose up in her, but she pushed it aside like a moth-eaten curtain and looked further back into her memories, to the time before she had broken her parents’ hearts. “Yes. I have four younger sisters. Two already married, which makes me quite the old maid. Growing up, Mamma taught us how to sew and embroider. How to behave in church, and how to pray. From her example, we learned to be charitable to all, generous with those less fortunate, and gracious hostesses.”
“Ah. Perhaps that is why you are so good with the guests here.”
Claire blinked at the unexpected compliment. “I hope I am. Mamma was all a genteel lady should be. I regret not following her example more faithfully.”
Sonali’s keen gaze sharpened. “You made mistakes?”
